Blood on the Balance Sheet

Last week's visit to Orissa still reverberates. During our travels last week, we drove past a bridge over the River Daya. River Daya holds a very important place in history. It is on the banks of this river that Ashoka, the mighty Magadhan emperor turned repentant seeing the destruction that his war on Kalinga had caused. As the clear waters of the river turned to a bloody red, Ashoka turned from war to compassion. As the corpses mounted on the banks of the river, Ashoka repented his meaningless war. Ashoka transformed from "Chandasoka" to "Dharmasoka". Evil Asoka gave way to Pious Asoka, and he then went on to be called "Ashoka the great".

Today, Orissa remains a battleground for different reasons. In Orissa, there is the tribal heartland untouched by modern advancements. However, if the news trickling in over the past few years is to be believed, Orissa is the new battleground between mining companies on one side and the defenseless tribal on the other. There have been Amnesty International reports of human rights violations of the tribals by a certain company in their quest for bauxite. Companies listed on the stock exchange, respectable companies where ordinary folks like you and me could be shareholders, these companies could be built over someones misery? The story is not about one company or one state or one country. The latest report is about a recent poster-child of the stock market, a path breaking micro-finance company who in their zeal for results played a role in many suicides of poor indebted villagers. It is said that their means of loan recovery were violent and brutal. This company was set up to enable and create an inclusive approach to development and it soon turned into the loan shark it was trying to replace, the village pawnbroker himself. The only difference between the two being this was organized business funded through the stock market by people like you and me. And then, who has not seen the headline grabbing news about the big Olympics sponsorship and the row it has created. A big corporation that took over a controversial company that caused the Bhopal gas tragedy and now refuses to acknowledge that as its doing. There are many instances of corporations doing the wrong thing, some thinking about the next quarter results and others thinking about long term empire building accumulating dubious blood stained assets, but all of them thinking about their story for the market analysts, thinking about their attractiveness for investors. All these companies think you, me and other investors will buy because we are only interested in return on investment. Isn't it time we set the record straight? Isn't it time we said "No" to investing in companies that plunder and pillage? 

This is the River Daya moment for all of us. It is time to replace the meaningless pursuit of "return on investment" with "social impact of investment". There are many clean companies out there, there are many businesses out there that truly mean to change the world for the better. Choose them in your portfolio, because they matter to this world, because they matter to your value system. Discard the blood stained corporations, you don't need bad karma. This is what conscious capitalism is all about, what shariah investments are about, what social impact investing is about......Think about it. It matters. Blood on your hands? Blood on the Balance Sheet? Say NO.

Lord of the Dark Ages

Time flies. Last weekend we were in Orissa and our trip started with a visit to the famous temple of Lord Jagannath in Puri. Lord Jagannath is known as per Hindu Mythology as the Lord of the Universe. He is the Lord of the Dark Ages, of Kaliyug. I am no expert on Hindu mythology, but this much I knew and I looked forward to the visit to this sacred temple. My friend forewarned me that there are many so called "holy men" who will offer their services rather forcefully to escort you to the temple. The temple is governed by the priests called Pandas. They are rather persistent about showing you around the temple in return for money. Well, you do encounter such things everywhere but, that did not prepare me for what we experienced.

As we got out of the car, there was already a person taking charge of our tour party to show us the temple.  We politely declined, however, he would just not give up. His speech slurred and his eyes rolled and I was sure this could be no messenger of the Lord. As we sidestepped from the grips of this man, another "holy guide" took charge and he was so persistent that we could not shake him off. This new guide with bloodshot eyes did not provide any confidence.We tried all our tricks on this new guide, all the tricks one has learnt from edge of the seat thriller movies where the hero tries to shake someone off his trail. We failed. Beaten and irritated, we followed the "holy guide" into the temple. As we entered the temple, someone was at the door blessing everyone. He would hit you on the head with a little stick and utter something. Lo and behold, he hit my daughter on her head and blessed her saying "Don't worry, always sing Kolaveri!!". Now, that was a novel blessing but a bit strange. And then we entered the temple, and as we tried to find the sanctum sanctorum,  our "holy guide" took us on a wild goose chase. He tried to lead us everywhere but to the deity. We were a bit confused initially. Finally, it struck us that the many doors on the inner wall, all lead to the deity. We stepped in and we saw the tall deities staring down at us. I suddenly realized that Lord was right in front of us and a strange sense of peace filled my heart. We were running around in chaos and suddenly, peace fills us as we stood in front of the Lord of the Dark Ages. We stepped out of the temple joyfully recollecting the experience, remembering the chaos of the outer world , contemplating the sudden realization and peace in the inner sanctuary oblivious of everything else.

I wondered long as to why this sacred temple had turned into a business for the not so holy "holy men". I wondered why they stopped innocent pilgrims from seeing the Lord in a peaceful manner.I wondered why it had to be so chaotic. And then I realized, here is the Lord of the Dark Ages. His temple is a reflection of the world we live in. We spend our time chasing happiness. We find our own guides, some who tell us the new car or the new house or that lovely holiday by the beach is what happiness is about. We go running after that, and then we discard that to run after the next. We walk all around in blindness, in chaos. And suddenly, we step inside. We step into our inner sanctuary, into the peace that has always been waiting for us. We realize that peace and happiness is within us, if we choose to step in. The Lord of the Dark Ages rules your heart, look inside and find peace.

Beautiful girl

My flight landed on time and as I switched on my mobile phone, I received a call. The cab driver for my pick-up from the airport told me in broken English, " Me waiting at exit, sir". His voice sounded cracked and his accent was hilarious, but he insisted on replying in English to my Hindi replies. This was going to be an interesting ride from the airport, I remember thinking. I waited for the never-ending baggage handler line to throw me a surprise, before quite predictably, my bags arrived next to last. Waiting for the bags, buzzing blackberry messages and other daily drills made me forget the waiting cab driver for a while. So much so, that I was surprised by the person I saw waiting for me with a placard holding my name at the airport exit gate. Here was a weathered beaten down man heavily wrapped in woolens waiting for me. Covered to beat the cold, but not covered enough to disguise his old face weathered by age or more. Life had drawn some long lines on his face, his teeth was more broken than his English and I was in two minds when he grabbed my bags and pulled it along to the cab. Hmm...this man was really old, he was probably closer to eighty or at least looked it, what was he doing driving a cab?

We got talking, or rather, I should say my cab driver got talking and I replied in monosyllables.  I wanted him to focus on the road. I noticed my slowly creeping irritation at his very slow drive in an overcrowded highway. The pace at which we were going I suspected pedestrians would keep up. But, slowly, the old man drew me into his story. The story of his life from being a soldier at a border-post in the harshest of conditions. The story of his life shared with a loving wife of many years. The story of their life bringing up two sons and a daughter. The story of how he spent all his savings on his sons and their education. The story of how his sons were doing really well. The story about how his first son was in the big financial district making big money for himself. The story about how that son was not so much in touch these days and busy with his own life. The story about how his second son makes him cry by saying things he does not really mean. The story about how it is finally his daughter who gives him joy. The story of his beautiful daughter who he treats as a "son". The story of why he drives a cab so that his beautiful daughter can have a beautiful life. His story of his own dream ..... about how his daughter can fulfill her dreams, find a good job, a great husband and live a life at-least as good as his sons have....His story about his beautiful daughter who is more of a son for him because she cares and is there for him. His silent prayer that his daughter remains beautiful through life. It is a difficult world out there you know especially if you are a woman, he says. 

Suddenly, the cab comes to a stop. I have reached my destination. The journey had actually taken much longer than usual, but it seemed so much shorter engrossed in the old man's story. Coming from a different social milieu, many of us have different ethos and don't realize the challenges faced by folks from a different background. Bringing up a girl child in some parts is still seen as a lesser priority than a son's upbringing. For someone from that social backdrop to care so much for his daughter's upbringing and to provide equally is a story in itself. In the midst of all the debate going on in India about female foeticide and the country's horrible record in number of deaths of girl children below 5 years, I remembered this old man. I remembered his beautiful daughter and how she was a "better son" to him. 

The old man said, " It is a difficult world nowadays. No one cares about you in the city. It was easier at the border-post as a soldier. If I died at the border, I knew that I died fighting for a worthy cause."  Thinking about it now, I should have said " Old soldier, you are still fighting for a worthy cause. For your girl child to lead an equal life. Because of you, she has got a fighting chance." Beautiful girl, you have got a fighting chance. Beautiful girl, you can change the world.